Blowing Off Steam

[Isaac Sunderland]

Some said there was no better place to clear one's head than the Powerhouse District. Far from the main body of Lumen City, the brightly lit cityscape and sparkling sea became magnets for those who needed a moment to sit and think. Abandoned warehouses turned into canvases for self-expression, makeshift rage rooms, and the occasional underground party. Many were drawn to the Powerhouse District so they could rage against the dying of the night among their fellow misfits, turning Lumen's darkest district into an explosion of color, sound, and motion.

For Isaac, that was the last thing he could've wanted. He'd had enough sound and fury at home to last him a lifetime. Sure, they kept it all hushed up when El was around. But El was getting busier and busier as the year dragged on, and in their absence the claws came out. Mom at least tried to keep it bottled up for his sake, but did it really matter? That man didn't give a single, solitary fuck, and it wasn't like they had anything left to hide from Isaac. He'd known just how ugly things could get since the beginning.

Not that it meant he wanted to keep hearing it.

Isaac didn't know where he wanted to go, besides away. He didn't know what he wanted to do, but when did he ever? All he knew was that the more distance he put between himself and home, the better off he'd be. Yet when he could never escape the shadow it cast over his mind, did any of that distance mean a damn? Or was he just running as fast as he can for the privilege of staying in place? It was an infuriating thought, one he took out on the first pebble to find itself in front of him. The sound of it bouncing between walls as it tumbled down the alley was strangely satisfying.

As he listened for the echo, his brow furrowed. Something was wrong. Another sound underlined it; footsteps heavy with intent. Isaac froze. What did he do? Did he run? Did he turn around to try and confront the source of the sound? Or did he stand still as a statue, not giving away the fact that he knew he wasn't alone? Isaac wished he could say that his hesitation was a tactical maneuver. He really did. But in that moment, pure fear gripped at his heart.

It only deepened as the telltale flick of a switchblade clicked in his ears.

Stella Morozova

[Stella Morozova]

Stella was lost. As mundane and annoying as it sounded, it was undeniably - true. An occurrence that doesn't happen often, to say the least. She has been living in Lumen City for around three months, give or take, and quite thoughtfully she was mapping the area of her late walks. The summertime heat was enough to kill her during the day, so she made a habit of strolling through the place in the evenings and at night. It was what she needed to sort out her thoughts. A moment to get away from everything, heh, some habits die hard... Each time Stella broadened the map in her head, learning new corners and streets, she felt more confident roaming the quiet alleys on her lonesome. Not that she would be ever looking for a company.

So to realize she ventured somewhere into the Deep Lumen, walking into the outskirts of the Powerhouse without noticing, well... So far, she hasn't strolled through this area. Great.

After coming back from work she hasn't had a moment to take her shoes off. Stella dropped her bag and was about to walk into the kitchen - and the voices immediately bombarded her ears. Loud and full of pretense. Someone was yelling over a speaker during a phone call, and with a prickling hint of irritation, she recognize the yapping sound her mother made when she was pissed... Though to her surprise, Rosina replied with a spine-chilling tone, scolding Lucy like a little brat. Huh, she didn't expect that this cheerful elderly woman could sound this way. That was actually music to her ears, though she didn't intend to stick around. They were in the middle of an argument so heated that Stella quickly got the memo. Whether it was about her or not, she wasn't going to wait for confirmation, let alone listen to that annoying voice on another side of the call. Without thinking, she turned back, left the house, closed the door, and walked... Somewhere, where her legs would take her.

It's been hours as the disdain and exasperation flared up, melded together, and started to clot like bad blood. A bothersome scrub. Stella finally snapped out of the daze, realizing that this way of venting wasn't bad, though it surely was time-consuming... The hour was late, dammit. She was without her bag, phone, and wallet, in a place that looked extremely unfamiliar. Tch. She would get mad at herself for being so careless if she didn't worry that much about her situation in the first place. In light of her experience, this wasn't a problem at all - just a minor inconvenience. The girl sighed, brushing her hair away from her face and looking up.

There were enough landmarks around to hint where should she go to reach somewhere else than another warehouse. Stella put herself here, she was going to get back on her own. It would be better to consider it a nice, late and relaxing walk... After all, it was a long day. Not exactly satisfying, but a tiring one indeed.

... Perhaps fate wanted her to have something from the night.

Stella was walking through the area in silence when a sound she knew all too well rang through the air. Her instinct was still sharp, huh... Somewhere on the side, behind this alley and that corner - noises of struggle, muttering, and crude voices of a brawl starting. The girl stopped in her tracks, listening. Her body reacted on her own, small hair on her neck standing up, hands curling into fists. Flight or fight reaction was barely a suggestion, as in Stella's case it was always the latter.

Maybe her twisted luck wasn't so bad, after all? If fate was offering her another way of venting the distaste she felt in her mouth since earlier, why not take it? The scrub of the negative feelings barely solidified and was oh so itchy... Just like her fists.

Isaac Sunderland

[Isaac Sunderland]

If there was a chance to move, it was too late. You didn't fuck around when there was a knife at your back. The only consolation that Isaac had from the situation was the fact that he hadn't already been stabbed.

"What do you want?"

A dark chuckle answered his question. "You already know the deal." Isaac could hear a slight waver in the man's voice. Was he a bit tipsy? The bad news was that meant he was a bit more erratic. The good news was that he wouldn't be as sharp as he could be. He had a chance; a tiny one, but a chance nonetheless. All he had to do was make it count. Until then, he stayed frozen up, letting the man think that he was the one in charge here. "Your money or your life."

"Okay, okay, I'm getting it. Just gimme a second." He rooted around in his pockets, making a show of fishing around for his wallet. When stuck in a bad situation, there was a piece of advice he always stood by. Make them watch the mouth, not the hands. Misdirection was key to making it out of this encounter alive and unharmed. "Lessee, should be right about here . . . shame, y'know? Just saved up enough for a PS7. Was gonna pick it up tomorrow and everything. Guess it's as good as yours now, huh?"

Greed lulled the man into a false sense of security. As images of fat wallets danced in his eyes, the knife against Isaac's back started to ease ever so slightly. That was his cue. He stooped down a little, as if reaching into his pocket, and then shot up like a spring. The back of his head crashed right into the man's nose, sending him staggering back. From there, Isaac didn't waste any time. What he drew from his pocket wasn't a wallet but instead the key to his apartment. He wheeled around, digging it right into the back of his assailant's hand. It wasn't enough to seriously hurt him, but the pain got him dropping his weapon. Good.

Isaac stepped on the knife, kicking it as far behind him as humanly possible. The momentary reprieve it bought him vanished as soon as he felt a heavy weight pressing against him. It turned out deceiving, hurting, and disarming a man that already had no qualms with hurting you. Who knew? The man bumrushed Isaac against the wall of the alleyway, taking advantage of him being pinned beneath his weight to pepper him with a flurry of clumsy punches.

What had started as a mugging turned into an all out brawl.

Stella Morozova

[Stella Morozova]

Step by step, Stella walked closer to the sound of the dispute gone wrong. Common sense could be screaming in her head for her to turn around, yet her self-preservation worked around the clock. So why? A bit of a crazy nostalgia, or just an itch that only a good kick to the face could scratch. Maybe... Sometimes she didn't know what was behind her thoughts. Still, she was watching the shadows for every move, carefully listening for any change that could suggest something worse. Worse than the picture her intuition already painted in her mind. Be it Lumen City or Petersburg, assholes were the same everywhere... Which was in some borderline way, almost comforting.

Hearing a pained grunt, wheezing, then a metallic clang and more struggle - in that order - made it pretty clear. Although Stella hadn't heard clearly what it was about, the light illuminated the blade kicked under trash containers, leaving little to the imagination. Right, what she had here were two guys in an unfair fight - then again, what type of a back-alley brawl is ever fair? It wasn't her first time seeing someone using their size and age against others... She was at the receiving end like that a handful of times. A bloody itch was growing stronger, those memories were something, weren't they? She had enough time to learn the hard way that experience was a brutal teacher. But by the gods, she learned a lot - because she didn't have a choice. Sometimes fighting unfairly was all that was possible, so why not..?

It was time to put what she had learned back in Russia to the test. The world's status quo will remain mostly untouched even after beating one drunk asshole. They hadn't noticed her yet, and for a split second, Stella weighed her options... And then she walked closer, deliberately digging her heels into the ground to make herself known.

"... Excuse me, do-"

No. As soon as she opened her mouth she stopped herself. In another life, maybe it was a good idea, but now it didn't feel like it. Tch, the hell with diffusing the situation. For what? A distraction? So the wanna-be-mugger could ogle her, moving away from the alleged pre-victim of the stabbing? The only thing that would change was the amount of teeth he would lose, each for every stare.

"Ah, the hell with it," Stella's voice instantly dropped to an icy tone as the tip of her shoe mercilessly kicked the inner side of the jerk's knee. It was enough to cause a reaction - a painful one at that. The guy barely swallowed a cuss and flinched, so without missing her chance, she grabbed him by his collar. The shoving motion was supposed to send him to the ground, she put her strength to it... And yet he still was on his two feet. Guess someone twice, or even thrice her width won't be so easy to trip. Staggering a little, though still there in a vertical stance, he wiped his ugly mug with an open hand. Tch. The drunken gods were on this jerk's side, weren't they?

"I thought I'd ask for direction... But fuck it," she said, not exactly addressing anyone with that statement. With one quick motion, Stella took out the feather earring and pocketed it in her jacket. This wasn't going to end so quickly - and, something told her, it wasn't going to be pretty either.

[Isaac Sunderland]

The grinding of Isaac's body against the wall wasn't the only grinding he could hear. Was it another blade? No. This was something else. More blunt, more weighty, and yet filled with predatory intent. It was almost as if Jason Voorhes had stalked down the alleyway, looking for another target.

Except Jason Voorhes didn't look half this good.

Isaac was a loner. It wasn't every day that someone swooped in on his behalf. It especially wasn't every day that said someone was a tall, elegant woman with features sharper than the thug's blade. She was able to pry him off of him with a kick, a turn, and a shove, but what he lacked in coordination he made up for in mass. He was able to keep on his feet, even as the injury the mysterious girl left him a little off balance. A snarl spread across his features as he stared her down.

The good news was that it was as if he'd forgotten all about Isaac. The bad news was that Isaac wasn't the type to just spit on someone's kindness like that. As the thug launched forward, Isaac pushed himself off the wall, aiming a sweep to his other ankle. It was less of a kick and more of a trip, seeking to turn his own momentum and haste against him.

His stumble left him putting extra weight on the knee that Isaac's new pal had just softened up. Their combined efforts left his leg buckling slightly, only a hastily thrown out arm stopping him from making headfirst contact with the wall. He huffed and puffed, eyes widened from shock, as if he was acutely aware of how close he'd come to scrambling his own noggin.

Isaac tried to capitalize, but the man was that little bit faster. It was his turn to push back now, elbowing Isaac square in the head. His vision swam as he hit the floor. Fuck, that was gonna leave him all nice and discombobulated. He tried his damndest to shake the daze, but until he could remember which direction "up" was he'd be floored.

Luckily, the new girl seemed to know her way around a fight. She could hold the line until he was up and at 'em again.

Stella Morozova

[Stella Morozova]

That sleazy look... The grimace that creep gave her while baring down his yellowish fangs was enough of a trigger. A well-known but never welcomed reaction made her skin crawl. Instantly, he evolved from an inept mugger into a lousy pervert. Right there, right now, Stella has decided to drop the whole breaking-teeth thing. The blood started rushing through the pit of her stomach, foretelling that the guy was losing something more than his jaw tonight.

And she was going to make every effort to prove that predicament true.

As soon as the slimeball moved, stumbling but persisting to land a hit, Stella braced herself. With her muscles tensed she was ready to kick, aiming at the mug... However, an unexpected aid came from the side, sliding through with such pace that she barely jumped out of the way. The guy who was now freed from the attention of the creep visibly held a grudge - and was going to do something about it. Guess she wasn't the only one venting with good old violence... A well-aimed hit reached the ankle and the opponent faltered, about to drop to his knees. Ah, shit. He saved himself from an intimate meeting with the wall, how unfortunate. She could feel the disappointment. Still, the way he grunted and awkwardly placed his feet hinted that he felt the damage harder than indicated... And that the injury he almost got from the bricks inch from his face sobered him up. Just slightly. Not enough to make the cogs called common sense start turning.

... Things didn't look that well, quickly getting worse. Stella avoided being run over by the sleazy bull, yet while her new partner-in-crime sent the creep stumbling towards the wall, he got caught up in the imminent backlash. The guy didn't even have a chance to jump away or deliver another blow. While saving himself from the kiss from the plastered bricks, the slimeball raised his elbow, sending a nasty jab toward her associate's head... It might have been a lucky hit, but all things considered, a clean whack to the temple must have hurt like hell. One concussion coming right up - and everything pointed to Stella to have to deliver another serving.

Enough of standing aside. The feel of her blood pressure and annoyance rising pushed her forward. She basically leaped at the bastard's back. Using that moment of having gotten away from the intoxicated gaze and less than impressive motives, Stella wasn't wasting her time. When the jerk was collecting his scarce thoughts, about to turn around - one down, one to go, right? - she got him. The black leather jacket she took off hastily was now openly thrown around the fucker's head, halfway wrapped like a Christmas ribbon. Holding the sleeves she pulled them, tying them behind his head in a quick, incomplete knot. It wasn't pretty and it was barely effective as a long-term solution... But it was enough to create some chaos. For better or for worse.

"You know... I appreciate you giving me ze varning, but three hits to ze air is a bit too much," she coldly teased, slipping into a heavy Russian accent. Bonus point for intimidation. "I'm starting to think you can't hit me, подонок." Provocation worked well. The fucker turned towards her, away from the guy who was still catching his breath after the brain-shaking hit. The creep started pulling away the clothing, frantically trying to push her away or hit her at the same time... Should have focused on one thing at a time. The erratic swings of his arms and elbows were a good way to waste his energy and weren't hard to dodge. He got more careless but wasn't any less dangerous. Plus, she probably got seconds before he would rip her leather jacket in half.

Risky as it was, Stella dived under his arm, and with quite the tenacity, she dug her heel in the middle of his left foot.

The thing was... Stella loved her shoes. A pragmatic and stylish pair - the heels weren't even that high, just two, maybe three inches. They were quite stable with a wide base, narrowing slightly at the tip for a good balance to her steps. And they were more than useful. With a strong heel stomp, Stella proceeded to trample the arch part near the ankle. Putting her weight into her hip and leg, her heel made a dent in the leathery surface and quite possibly badly bruised the foot. There was a disgustingly satisfying yelp of pain and enraged, heavy breathing.

Still, to attack like that she had to close the distance. That's how it worked in brawls... Which had its drawback, because instantly she felt the elbow hitting her side. It struck the area just under her ribs, making her sharply exhale the air out of her lungs. Fuck, she wheezed through clenched teeth. It was a literal blind attack, and then a fist landed on the lower side of her jaw. A clumsy punch fueled by rage still hurt like hell, though it wasn't as deadly. Stella was pushed away, by some miracle still holding her balance - the vision in her eyes flashed white for a split second. The nerves screamed, sending bolts of pain through her head and shoulder, and the metallic taste of blood was slowly tainting her tastebuds. Screw the needles in her side, she was going to have a bruise on her jaw in the size and color of a ripe plum.

While she was doing those short breathing exercises making sure she wouldn't spit out her lungs, the creep finally got rid of her jacket. His face was now crimson, sweaty, and even uglier than before... The bloodshot eyes were staring daggers. Though he didn't have to throw away her clothes onto the ground with such pretense. Rude.

"Hmm... Red isn't your color," Stella smirked mockingly, her indifferent tone only being like an oil to the fire.

The slimeball was limping, having difficulty standing on his own two legs. That's what he got from his actions - she just loved delivering karma, even if it hurt. With one foot out of commission, the only thing next was the concussion waiting to happen... Still, that goddam hit to her side stung so much, she was getting more pissed with each passing second.

[Isaac Sunderland]

Isaac's hand was a blurry mess as he squinted down at it, afterimages fading in and out of focus. Fuck. How bad had he gotten tagged? If the ringing in his ears was any indication, it was real bad. If it had hit his jaw instead of his temple, he would've been spitting up blood and teeth right now. Instead, he was lucky enough to "only" see clear saliva hitting the ground. Good. He'd take a killer headache over needing his jaw wired shut. At least this was a pain he could push through.

Maybe. The daze left his arms feeling like limp noodles as he pushed them against the ground. Jagged concrete dug into his scratched-up palms, mocking Isaac for even trying to get back up. He'd been in his share of scraps before, true, but against a grown-ass man? The guy was a foot taller than Isaac and probably weighed twice as much. He had no problems whipping out a knife to get his way, and when another chose to join the fight he just dared her to bring it on. If he was sober, Isaac might've been a dead man walking. Instead he was tipsy enough for Isaac to be left with a ghost of a chance.

Was he seriously gonna lay down and let his own body snatch that chance away? Hell no!

The girl didn't just fight well. She fought dirty. A blinding jacket to the face and a furious stomp to the foot made it clear that nothing was off limits. Even her demeanor changed, the graceful poise of an ice queen giving way to a heavy Russian accent and a fighter's stance. Just what was with this girl? And how could he justify laying down like some useless lump while she danced circles around this creep? He pushed against the concrete once more, gritting his teeth hard so hard that he could feel his jaw pop.

He rose to his feet as quiet as a shadow, giving his shoulder a light roll. Movements were still jerky. He was gonna have to sleep this one off for a good while. However, with each jerky rotation, he noticed his own jacket slipping a little off of his shoulder. At first he fumbled with the lapel, trying to adjust it into a less frustrating spot. However, as he set a hand on the fabric, inspiration hit him like an elbow to the temple. He leaned slightly, letting the jacket slip off of his shoulder and into his waiting palm.

Two could play at this jacket game.

All eyes were on the mysterious girl now. It was just the way Isaac liked it. A shrimp like him was never the type to stand and deliver. Why do that when instead he could work from the shadows, letting everyone else set up the perfect opportunity for him? As the drunk staggered forward, Isaac loomed behind him, slowly unfurling his jacket into a makeshift lasso. Closer . . . closer . . . little by little . . . not a sound until he could see the reds of his bloodshot eyes.

Now!

Isaac lunged forward, slamming his ankle into the back of the drunk's wounded knee. Between the inebriation and the busted foot, it was enough to leave him buckling. That was when Isaac slung his jacket around the man's neck and pulled it back as taut as possible. His bloodshot eyes went pop-eyed as he clawed at the jacket, far too focused on trying to find his breath to make more than the occasional wild strike. Isaac himself kept his distance, taking step after step to stay out of the man's thrashing range.

He didn't know how long this little gambit would last, but it would at least buy the girl time to score some free hits.

"?"

Stella Morozova

[Stella Morozova]

Each breath reminded her of the bruise blooming under her ribs. The pain continued to sting like the tip of a hot knife stabbing the muscles... Inhale, exhale, she felt it sharply with the slightest movement of her body. Tch. At least nothing was broken, though her luck was the weirdest thing. Instead of cracked ribs, Stella had the wind of her lungs knocked out of her with an elbow, with slight nausea adding up over time - but the latter was most likely caused by the sight of that sleazy pervert himself. Or maybe it was the taste of blood in her mouth. She spat out the red saliva. That was not pleasant. She must have bitten her cheek on the inside when the last blow brushed, or rather half-rubbed and half-hit, against her jaw.

All of that was only making her more annoyed. The fight wasn't that long but the more it was dragged out, the higher were chances of something going haywire. It wasn't the time to make any inspection of Stella's battle wounds - not hers at least. The quick assessment was about the slimeball in front of her. Knowing where to hit was crucial in a brawl, and the asshole was stumbling on his feet already, clearly trying to put his weight on one side of his body. Add to that substance abuse, the damage to his knees and ankles, losing energy from wrestling with her jacket... The strain piled up and he was slowing down, like a tire out of air. If he could only stop staggering and fall with his face straight into the pavement, that would be great... Instead, he muttered something through clenched teeth, full of drunken rage curling his hands into fists. Even a grown-ass jerk needed a moment to realize how deep in shit he was - though, no, it felt like he wasn't quite grasping that. Yet.

Stella wiped the bloody corner of her mouth with her wrist. She needed to do something to end it quickly - right then a movement caught the corner of her eye. The guy she believed to be lying by the wall four meters away with a nasty concussion was now slowly, though undeniably, treading toward them. Jacket in his hands... They do say that copying is a form of flattery, don't they?

It wasn't the time to make a judgment or think things through - one thing was certain. He wouldn't do anything to let the slimeball have the winning chance here, no, they both were set on that. Whatever his next move would be, Stella wasn't a mind-reader but there were, well, hints. Now, to make sure that the drunkard won't get alarmed... Not that she believed his brain cells survived the alcohol to give him any scrap of insight, though the fortune favored the stupid and careless - more often than the bold ones.

"Mugging people in ze back alley while smelling like a taproom," she casually raised her voice in the tense moment. "Let me guess, this is your big veeknight plan?" Stella tilted her head, not taking her cold glare away from the opponent. Her eyes narrowed, and she spoke in a blatantly indifferent tone, mocking... With his current state, did the guy even know she was taunting him? No matter. As long as she was speaking she could monopolize his limited attention and try to cover up any rustling of steps behind him. The more distractions the better. "At first, I thought I vould just let you kill me, so I von't see that hideous face anymore... But I rather it not be the last thing I see." The corner of her lips curled in a smirk, while she was taking nonchalant steps to the side. The enraged eyes followed her as if glued to her face.

And then she stopped. And sighed.

"Let's get it over vith, shall we?"

The timing was perfect, Stella had to admit that. The drunkass was gathering all his focus and energy on her - and while she mentioned wrapping things up, two things happened simultaneously. The bastard tried to awkwardly push himself from his spot, ready to hit - and he was prevented from doing so. What ensued, was a nice clean kick to his already hurting knee and another jacket thrown over his neck, and Stella didn't have to lift a finger. At least not for the next ten seconds.

With a sneak attack aimed at his sore leg, the slimeball's weight finally wasn't worth the fight with gravity. He faltered, falling to one of his knees with a cuss and pained groan. Not the most romantic time to see something like that, though the irony was pretty uncanny. The makeshift rope made of the jacket was pulling his head back by his neck - and the mastermind wasn't giving in so easily either. Her partner-in-crime stood up with his own little plan, rendering the pervert immobile... More or less. He had to keep himself at more the arm's length, away from the furious and uncontrolled swings of fists and elbows. Looking at the difference between their builds and the pure rage kicking in, it was just a matter of seconds before the advantage given to her so chivalrously would be gone.

If she wanted to end it, she should make the next hit count. And hurt enough to not kill the fucker but make him unable to get up from bed for some time... Maybe until next week.

Stella raised her leg and without hesitation gracefully delivered a kick to the face. Fuck. She had to clench her teeth because the stretch of her muscles reminded her brutally that a part of her body was silently screaming in pain... But there were more important things to deal with. The side of her shoe was aimed at the jaw, yet the thrashing around changed the movement. She hit against the swinging forearm of that freaking asshole and the heel did just enough damage to cause a bruised nose. Not bad but not effective enough.

With a click of her tongue, she pressed her hand against her aching side, standing firmly on both legs. Now another kick, though it should be more... Persuasive? That gave her an idea. When the bloodshot, filled with rage eyes glared at her, Stella smiled back with cold and murderous intent.

In the same position as a second ago, she prepared herself for another kick. A bit of deception and spite goes a long way. Instead of going high, for the head, her leg arched midway... Not even scratching arms that the opponent raised instinctively for protection. Surprisingly smoothly she changed her center of gravity, thrusting her feet down in one swift motion - right into the crotch.

Her shoe landed on the groin, kicking the heel into the fabric of his pants exactly between his legs.

... It was amusing to see a grown-ass adult go limp in an instant, exhaling air with a short but high-pitched wheezing. That was like a sound effect taken straight from an old-fashioned cartoon.

With additional impact, Stella pushed her leg off the bastard's crotch, taking a step back.

"Ugh..." The sign of repulsion frowned her eyebrows for a second before she spat out bloody saliva on the ground again. The exhaustion wanted to settle in her ached muscles but the adrenaline wasn't letting it. "I hope after that you won't ever contribute to the gene pool," she stated with disgust.

... If not, maybe the third kick would do the charm.

[Isaac Sunderland]

It was the two oldest tricks in the book, played back to back. The first: aim high, then aim low, to never let your opponent's guard get too comfy. The second: everyone goes down like a sack of potatoes when they take a hit to the nuts. Even the lout they were fighting, hopped up on booze and adrenaline, went limp from the force of impact.

If anything, Isaac was amazed the man had so much air left to wheeze out.

The girl eyed her prey, as if gauging whether he needed another sharp lesson or two. In response, he simply lay there, clutching himself in quiet agony. Was it over? For the time being, it seemed to be. Isaac sighed in relief, letting his jacket go limp so he could fish it out from beneath the drunk's thick neck. Ugh. Now it was going to smell like blood and drunken sweat. Maybe the girl had the right idea using hers as more of a distraction than a weapon.

A part of Isaac expected that, the second his vision swam back into focus, the girl would be gone. It wasn't every day that a stunning model with violence in her eyes just showed up and turned the tide of a fight. Yet as Isaac's pounding heart and ragged breaths began to settle, he found himself almost relieved to notice she was still here. It wasn't some weird, concussion-related hallucination after all. Just a good old fashioned rescue flowing into a good old fashioned back-alley brawl.

Isaac pondered giving the drunk another punt to the ribs for good measure, but ultimately decided againdt it. Instead, with a shake of his head he opted to turn away. "Friggin jackass," he muttered, getting only a raspy breath in response. "Remember that the next time you try and start shit, yeah?"

A whining groan in response left Isaac content that the point had been made.

Maybe the smart thing to do would be to walk off and leave that alley behind. But why do that when some interesting company had just shown up? Isaac leaned against the alley wall, shooting Stella a weary yet grateful smile. "Guess I owe you one for bailing me out, huh?" he admitted. "Name's Isaac. Good to meet ya."

"So," he said, voice somewhat deadpan as he took a look around their surroundings. Cracked stone. Toppled cans. A half-KO'd drunk rolling around on the concrete before them, clutching his groin in one hand and his neck in another. "You come here often?"

[Stella Morozova]

When the high-pitched wheeze died out, everything went quiet. Suddenly the sounds of the fight were no more and as the pounding in her temple faded away, Stella started to notice the outflow of adrenaline. She began to feel all the small cuts and scratches she hadn't noticed she got until now, not to mention the sore side and the blood staining the corner of her lips. A weeknight like any other... Crossing her arms on her chest, she looked down at the slimeball, curled up quite literally, before her feet. Ugh.

The creep was there, unable to get up. They have won, technically... He was groaning in pain, and couldn't in any way stop them from walking away. There were no more issues - but people were spiteful. It wasn't some nasty bullies case, that was a grown-ass adult and they tended to hold grudges. It wasn't easy to disregard, because Stella had seen it more than once. In person. She wanted nothing more but to leave... On one hand, the creep was dazed and tipsy enough, with his fuzzy memory additionally shaken up by the beating. It was very unlikely that he'd remember any of them, yet for how long this kick to the encounter would prevent him from going around and mugging others? Especially those he deemed younger and weaker than himself? So typical and so... Revolting, though not at all surprising.

While Stella was trying to figure out what to do, she didn't forget that she wasn't there alone. The guy who was supposed to be a victim of mugging introduced himself as Isaac, expressing his thanks for her intervention. Right. The truth was she didn't do that because of high morality or a heroic inner need... She selfishly wanted to beat up this creep to vent some of her own frustrations. That's all. It did rub her the wrong way so she reacted - some good was done too and given the situation, she would do it all again. Not to mention that her partner-in-crime showed off some tenacity and didn't just sneak away when attention was on her. Not everything that happened tonight left a bitter taste on her tongue. He gave her an advantage which basically ended this fight. Maybe this performance wasn't selling him on her completely, but at least he showed his appreciation... And she too wasn't ignoring the aid given despite the evident head trauma.

Speaking about that, did they have a similar sense of humor or was it concussion speaking? Stella nodded, acknowledging what Isaac said, though her mind was halfway through focusing on something else. And that was a very fair and reasonable question - Why not implement some good old-fashioned psychological warfare?

"Obviously, not often enough," she replied without missing a beat. The heavy accent vanished for this statement and Stella tilted her head slightly, fingers absently stroking the jawline. The painless side, of course, the other one was turning the spot on her neck blue. Tch. Her pensive gaze lowered when an idea lightly curled the corner of her mouth in a smile.

She walked up to the drunk, looking at him from above not with intense hatred but rather something akin to disgust. As if she saw the remains of a roadkill flattened by a tire. It would be a lie to say there wasn't even a shred of satisfaction. She did something, good or bad, but she did. That's what they got out of this brawl, a bit of pride from the win, from delivering a slice of karmic justice... And yet, Stella started to feel weary. People were shitty, no matter where she was it was comforting but also annoying. A heavy sigh raised her chest. It might have been the exhaustion poking at her every muscle, the adrenaline wasn't there anymore to numb it out. Then, let's get it over with.

"You know, it sounds like you didn't get ze memo." The girl raised her leg to abruptly hit the ground, her heel inches from the slimeball's face. He flinched. Her voice again slipped right into the overly coarse accent for the sake of drama. "My dad claimed this area a vhile ago. He and ze boys von't be happy to hear that some random fuck vas causing trouble on their turf, von't they?" Imagination could be a scary thing. It wasn't like Stella was saying that she was somehow connected to the Russian mafia. She was simply stating some things that might have - or not - been true and leaving the fear and paranoia to fill the gaps... But with that, some muggings and stabbings could be prevented. Right. Maybe the chances weren't high but it wouldn't hurt to try some archaic intimidation.

Stella was about to reach into her pocket, to only be reminded that her jacket was lying somewhere there on the ground... And even then she couldn't get her phone, as it was still in the bag, safely in Rosina's kitchen. The digital watch on her wrist was supposed to be capable of taking photos - but that was before a freaking furball bounced out of it, changing the prosperity of the device completely. Guess she needed more aid tonight.

"You mind if I borrow your phone for a moment?" She turned to Isaac and asked using a more normal tone, though she wasn't just dropping the accent completely. Once the device was in her hands, Stella made it quite obvious that she snapped a photo or two. The flash of the lamp wasn't needed of course but it nicely lit up the bloodshot eyes staring at her with hate. In the end, she used her own number for this deed. Rosina didn't deserve a heart attack and her boss wouldn't appreciate knowing how much foundation would be used to cover all of her bruises for the next gig. "Message sent," Stella nonchalantly waved the phone right in slimeball's mug, with a notification of delivering the photos still on the screen. "Now that nasty thing you call your face von't be safe from them around here," she finished coldly. Съешь дерьмо и умрешь, ублюдок."

Will it work or not, she wasn't sure... But perhaps the jackass would make use of what was left of his brain cells and get scared. And stay away from this area, let alone of blades and dark alleys.

With this, Stella handed back the phone to Isaac. She picked up her jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders as the waist was a bit too tender for that. Turning around on her heel, she walked out of the alley.

Staying here with groaning sounds in the background wasn't to her liking. And the guy smelled worse than trash lying around, so she wasn't sparing a second to hesitate. It wasn't a safe place anyway - but knowing that the main danger was more-or-less properly dealt with, the exhaustion came back swinging. It wasn't the right time... The hell with it. Stella managed to leave this dubious corner, only to nonchalantly lean against the wall of an open street a short moment later. The lights flickered around. Her hand curled against the aching side, pressing it for the faint relief from pain. Between that and her jaw, she couldn't say which spot hurt more. With an annoyed click of her tongue, Stella stroked the back of her neck, taking slow, deep breaths. Her skin felt hot, there was sweat on her brow, and the taste of blood wasn't leaving her mouth. Probably the red was still staining the corner of her lips, great. Resting the back of her head on the cold wall, she let her eyes close for a second, making a quick assessment...

It hurt like a bitch so she was still alive.